


In Bourbon Veritas

by Dorinda



Category: Homicide: Life on the Street
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, Coming Out, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-22
Updated: 1999-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorinda/pseuds/Dorinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bayliss is depressed, Munch is unflappable, and the Waterfront brings out a few home truths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Bourbon Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written either in late 1998 or early 1999, for the "Waterfront Kisses" challenge: write two characters from Homicide: Life on the Street kissing in their neighborhood (eventually detective-owned) bar, the Waterfront. People were batting around possible kissing-pairs, and someone suggested Bayliss/Munch as a kiss that could NEVER work.
> 
> I begged to differ. :D (And anyway, remember what a big old naked hippie John canonically was in his earlier days...?)
> 
> Set sometime in the aftermath of episode 6x09, "Closet Cases".

It was late. Very late, well past the time when all responsible business owners lock their doors and go sedately home. The doors of the Waterfront were indeed locked, but two of its responsible business owners had no intention of going sedately anywhere anytime soon. They sat (or in one case slumped, head down) side by side on barstools, drinking double bourbons.

"You know what's worse," Munch sighed, winding up his latest drunken monologue, propping his head on one hand. "What's worse is when you're trying to get to know somebody, but you're not sure how far to stick your neck out. What if you lay it all out on the line, you bare your soul, you tell your friends? It might not work out. You end up miserable. Not only miserable, but miserable and _embarrassed_. Like what if you and... you and..." He paused to lubricate his tongue with a sip of his drink.

"Chris," came the automatic mumble from within Tim's folded arms.

Munch regarded the sodden heap of Tim beside him suspiciously. "No, see, what you're supposed to say now is 'Julianna.' Remember her? Julianna Cox, Medical Examiner, at one time reportedly involved with Detective Tim Bayliss of the Baltimore City Homicide Unit?"

"...Julianna," Tim echoed obediently, if faintly.

But Munch was having none of it. He was on the scent now. "You didn't _say_ Julianna, you said Chris." He pursed his lips around the name. "Chris. Chris? Who's Chris? And why haven't you ever brought her around to meet me? How else can I be sure that she's good enough for my Timmy, my boychick, my firstborn son?" Munch draped an arm over Tim's back. "Confession is good for the soul, Tim. Tell me all about her. Especially if she has a sister with better taste."

Tim gave a moan that might have been the word "No."

"Tim." Munch shook him. " _Tim_. There's no point in fighting it. You know you want to tell me. What happened, did you two break up? A shame, really. Give me her number and I'll see if I can get her back for you. And if she happens to decide she likes me better, well..."

Tim's arms slipped up protectively over his head.

"I can't believe it. You're not going to tell me? After all we've meant to each other?" Munch looked up to heaven. "After all I've done for him, he won't share this little detail. He refuses to comfort a friend in despair."

There was an inarticulate growl from Tim's direction.

Munch paused for a moment, then patted Tim's shoulder. "That's all right, Tim. You know who'll tell me? Frank, that's who. Your partner knows everything about you that's worth telling, and some things that aren't. I'm sure he wouldn't mind a little innocent conversation."

That did it. Tim's head shot up, and he fixed Munch with a bleary, bloodshot glare. "Leave Frank out of this. He knows how to keep a secret."

"A secret?" Munch cocked his head, fascinated. "So she's a _secret_? This is getting better by the minute." He lowered his voice, leaning in close, dark eyes peering over his glasses. "Come on, you can tell me. Is she married?"

Tim hesitated. He glanced toward the door, then back at Munch, who watched him hopefully. Finally, he let his head drop heavily down onto his arms. "No. He's not married." His eyes closed. Tightly.

"Then what? Underage?"

" _No_ ," Tim said, irritated. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you," Munch said. "I'm waiting for the rest of it." He finished off the last few drops in his shot glass and gazed contemplatively at the bottle of bourbon.

"Isn't that enough? Huh?" Tim sat up again, gripping the bar to steady himself. "John, I just told you I've been seeing a _man_. You know, a man? Like, not a woman?"

"And that's it?" Munch sounded disappointed.

Tim scowled at him. "You're trying to tell me this doesn't bother you."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Sure. Sure, Munch. Just like it doesn't bother _Frank_ , right?" Tim gave a choked laugh. "Frank used to sound so tolerant, you know. Until his partner turns out to be one of Those People. Then good old Frank just doesn't know what to do with himself."

Munch gave an angular shrug. "So you like to play for the home team. What can I tell you, Tim? I'm unshockable."

"Kiss me, then," Tim said bitterly. His voice was thick. "You just go ahead and show me how much it doesn't bother you. Go ahead! Plant a big one right--"

Tim expected an attempt at a witty offhand comeback. Or a soothing remark to calm down his temper. Some kind of uncomfortable stall for time, maybe. What he _didn't_ expect was for Munch to lean forward and capture his mouth in a kiss. His lips were thin but agile, gently caressing Tim's mouth, coaxing it open with a soft flicker of his tongue. Tim found himself kissing back, helplessly responding to the tender and knowledgeable touch, before his rational mind (alcohol-soaked, but still there) kicked in. This was _Munch_ , for God's sake! He broke the kiss, breathing hard, reflexively licking his lips.

Munch regarded him, one brow quirked slightly upward. "You were saying?"

"...It...it really doesn't bother you."

"No." A faint, nostalgic smile. "I long ago accepted, Timmy my boy, that there were more things in heaven and earth than were dreamt of in my philosophy. Why should I worry about it? Like I don't have enough to worry about already." He reached for the bottle. "And it doesn't bother Frank, either."

Tim slumped down again, his chin pressed heavily against his arms. "Right," he said miserably.

Munch rolled his eyes. "Listen. I know you and Pembleton have this whole Taming of the Shrew thing going, but there's one fact you've forgotten. Above all, Frank hates to be surprised. It reminds him he doesn't know everything. You? You managed to surprise him. You need to give him time to get over hating himself for not being omniscient."

There was silence for a few moments after that. At last, Tim said softly, "Thanks, John."

Munch smiled and poured them each one more shot of bourbon.

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to Mary Crawford for unearthing a copy of this story via the Wayback Machine, after I had given it up for lost!
> 
> The story originally had no title per se; I've belatedly added one.


End file.
